


The Music

by mistressteacup



Category: Bandom, Disney RPF, Jonas Brothers, My Chemical Romance, The Academy Is...
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-08-24
Updated: 2012-08-24
Packaged: 2017-11-12 19:31:42
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,670
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/494864
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mistressteacup/pseuds/mistressteacup
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which Kevin meets My Chemical Romance, makes some new friends and begins to understand himself and how he exists outside of the Jonas Brothers. And then he meets someone, and it becomes more than just figuring out who he is, but letting everyone else know. And he's never been good at telling people what he really thinks or feels, so it's a good thing he's met some good people who can help him with that.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Music

They make it sound like you could take it and make it your own. And you can really. You can get the pet, the stuffed animal and cover it in writing and pictures. You can color it and give it clothes. And when you get bored, you can wash it, throw it in with the clothes and start all over again.

 

But you can never make it quite so cool. You can never get the hearts right and your handwriting doesn’t really seem to fit. It looks awkward in the way the ones on TV don’t.

 

And you wish you were artistic. That you wanted to do that in a way that you were passionate about. That you practiced and cared about it.

 

But that’s as far as it ever really goes.

 

You can tell if something looks good, but that’s about it.

 

And when you look at that stuffed animal, you can imagine it as something beautiful. You can see all the ways it could look and the ways it could feel. It could be something amazing, and you can see that in your head. But it never seems to transfer.

 

Like all the pictures in your head are stuck there because your passion doesn’t really lie in art, but in music.

 

And you prefer it that way, really, you do.

 

You don’t know how you could live without it, without the way it runs through your skin like a livewire, trembling through you until you can’t seem to feel anything but loved.

 

Because that’s what it makes you feel.

 

Loved.

 

Like there’s someone out there who will always love you, unconditionally.

 

And maybe that’s how family is supposed to be.

 

Maybe that’s how your family is.

 

But sometimes you wonder what they would think if they knew who you really were.

 

If they knew beyond the smiles and curls.

 

If they knew you were gay.

 

And you tell yourself you haven’t come out yet because it’s strange.

 

Straight people don’t have to come out so why do you?

 

Shouldn’t it just be part of who you are?

 

But it seems like that’s just an excuse.

 

Because you’re mostly just terrified that your family will decide you’re not worth it.

 

That their religion is worth more to them than their son.

 

And part of you wonders if they’re not wrong.

 

But even if they’re not wrong.

 

Even if you’re not sure it’s okay to be yourself.

 

To be who you were born to be.

 

At least you have music.

 

At least you have the way it makes you feel.

 

That when it all comes down to it, as long as you have a guitar in your hand, you’ll be okay.

 

~

 

She’s beautiful, you think.

 

Long brown hair and a sweet smile, she makes you think of rainbows and white fluffy clouds.

 

You’d feel bad about not being able to see her as something more, but you’re trying not to hate yourself for being gay.

 

It’s mostly successful.

 

~

 

You watch him play from the sidelines, watch his hands run across the strings of his guitar, his neck and back arched in that way that they do. The way that seems so common in guitarists. Like they can’t help but feel the music inside them, a tension beneath their skin, pushing them for more, for harder, for longer. That thing that won’t let you go until the crowd is cheering and the last song has ended. Until the adrenaline dies and you come back to yourself, like you’re just then realizing there’s something more. Something more than the chords and the notes, the A to G, and everything in between.

 

You know you do it yourself sometimes. You’ve seen the videos, the concerts, and though the cheering fans are gone, though you’re no longer the person on the stage, you can feel it. Like once you’ve had it, it’ll never be gone. And you wonder if your brothers feel it too.

 

You wonder if it’s the same as a singer, up on that stage. The adrenaline, the music. Does it fill you up when you have to create sounds that resemble words? Or do the words take you back down, fill you with reality.

 

Because sometimes it feels like with a guitar, with an instrument, that you are no longer human, you are no longer a being.

 

All you are is a wire, a speaker, for the music that exists in the world. All you are is a conduit, something for music to come through, to live through.

 

Because music would exist without you. It would live in this world and dance and play just as much without you as it would with you. It would still be the one thing that holds people together, that makes us all one. Without the songs, without the notes, without the lines we’ve given music, it would still be there. It would still be the one thing that even if you don’t know it exists brings us a tendril of fantasy and humanity.

 

Music doesn’t need us.

 

We need it.

 

~

 

You’re not the best at seeing what’s in front of you, at seeing beyond the masks people give you. You expect when someone says something that it’s the truth, that they’re not spreading lies.

 

And maybe that’s because you try to be honest. Lies never feel good when they’re falling off your lips, and you can feel the dishonesty sinking into your heart, like you’re telling yourself who you are with every lie you make and with every broken promise you spew.

 

You think maybe you’ll have to be honest soon.

 

But for now you’re more confused as to how you got here. It feels like you shouldn’t be here. You’re surrounded by people you’ve never met, but you’ve always been a fan of. They’re your secret that’s not really a secret. You’ve never lied about liking them; people just never seem to ask.

 

It’s like a Jonas Brother has to fit within a certain set of criteria. You must like certain things, do certain things. You must fit into a stereotype, and, in reality, nothing ever fits a stereotype. They’re an outdated concept, used to easily recognize patterns, to put those that would potentially hurt you into easily prescribed statements of fact. It’s an easy way to view people, a simplistic view of the world. But the lack in that, the negative in that, is that we do not see the complexity. We do not see the contradictions that people are made of. That people are, in essence, natural paradoxes.

 

And maybe you look like you shouldn’t belong in this room. In this place filled with those who play rock and metal. Maybe you don’t belong in a room with My Chemical Romance.

 

But this is a room filled musicians. This is a room filled with people who feel music in the same way that you do, and you can’t help but feel like that’s enough. That connection, that ability to feel music so deeply, that is all you need to belong.

 

So when someone slides into the seat across from you, you smile, watching them return your gesture.

 

It’s easy to enter a conversation with him, easier than you think it should be. Like there should be some jarring moment, some space of time where awkwardness eats up the words between you two, taking away whatever could belong there. But there’s not, the awkwardness is just a passing fancy, and you feel like you belong. Like you’ve found your niche, that place where your puzzle piece finally fits into place. Your colors match, blues and golds. You create a picture with these people.

 

And it’s weird, because you haven’t felt this way since your brothers. Since before you realized your family didn’t think boys should like boys. Since the first time you heard your dad joke about how unnatural it is. How weird it is. Gay people? Madness.

 

And you’re never sure whether you should take him by his word or not. Maybe he would change his mind if he knew you were. Maybe not.

 

And it’s the not part that scares you.

 

But you’re not there now. You’re not in that room with your dad when you were seven, when you first started to realize that people actually cared about whether someone was black or white, or female or male. Like some random act of consequence had an impact on whether you were a good person.

 

You’ve never been good at judging people. Sometimes, society makes you wonder if that’s a flaw.

 

And you’ve never told anyone this. You’ve thought it, sure, you’ve wondered and questioned, but you’ve never told anyone this. These thoughts that stew in your head like you don’t know how else to think.

 

So that’s why it’s so strange when you start telling this person in front of you. When you feel so comfortable that you forget you have things to hide.

 

But Gerard Way seems accepting. He always has, in his smile, in his jokes.

 

And you’re not going to lie, he’s one of the reasons you ever started being okay with yourself. Like being a person who doesn’t fit with the norm, doesn’t exactly jive with the people who surround you, isn’t a bad thing. Like being different isn’t some end of worth. Like you can still be beautiful even if you want to kiss someone just because they make your heart pound.

 

He makes you feel accepted.

 

And as you tell him this, as you tell him about your dad and how you’re gay, you watch his eyes, and you see that he doesn’t judge you. That he doesn’t think you’re a coward for being afraid to lose your family’s love.

 

And it makes you feel okay.

 

Which is all you ever really wanted to feel, but somehow could never find by yourself. Like the only way you could reach that sort of acceptance was with someone helping you up. Helping you reach the top of that monument. Because it feels monumental to you, like you’ve been climbing and climbing, searching for the top, for that moment where you can finally take a deep breath, finally tell yourself you’re awesome.

 

And it’s weird that the only way you could get there was by telling someone who is nearly a stranger things that you’ve never told anyone before.

 

And when the end of the night comes and he asks for your number, you can’t help but think he’s just being polite. Because despite how far you’ve come, you’re not actually sure if he’s just being nice or if he actually likes you. If he actually thinks you’re worth calling.

 

But as his friends come over, as his band mates call him away, he smiles at you, telling you he’ll call you, or text you, or something. And somehow, you can’t help but believe him. 

 

~

 

Your life always seems in stasis when you’re off tour. And now that you’re not a part of a band anymore, everything is off tour. Every second is a moment in time, frozen in reality. Moments and seconds stretching onward to forever. Every atom in the air pressing you together, reminding you that you are still. You aren’t a projection of velocity or momentum anymore. You aren’t the routes on a road, that person thrown onto a path that you have no choice but to follow. You’re just a person, staying in one place, sitting in the same house, in the same rooms. You exist in this sort of alternate universe, as though reality is just waiting to catch onto you again. Because you don’t think you’ll ever be used to remaining still.

 

And one day, you think you might tour again, you think that might be the only way life will make sense again, but you’re not sure people would come to see the Jonas Brother who doesn’t sing.

 

So for now, you take your guitar and you sling it around your neck. You press your fingers against the strings, against the metal and wood, and you once again remember the music.

 

~

 

You’re not broken, at least, you don’t think you are.

 

But sometimes, you wonder. What if that’s all you know?

 

What if being broken is just part of being who you are, what if that’s what you’ve been for as long as you can remember, as long as you’ve existed. What if that’s it for you. What if you don’t know what it’s like to feel whole.

 

What if you don’t know what it feels like to be more than just a useless doll, hanging on a shelf, waiting for someone to take you and remind you what it’s like to be more than this. More than a toy, waiting for someone kind enough to dust you off.

 

What if you’re just kidding yourself, when you tell yourself you’re okay.

 

Because you remember a time when you thought you were fine. When you thought there was nothing wrong because that was all you knew. But then something happened, a moment in time, and suddenly a crack filled, coming together, finally. An ancient pain healing over, the scar tissue finally turning new.

 

And you remember the difference. You remember the new feeling. The feeling of being okay. And that was when you realized. When you realized that you were broken before.

 

And that was when you started wondering if there was more you needed to heal.

 

~

 

Gerard ends up texting you around midnight. It’s mostly luck that you’re still awake because you usually sleep early, tucking into bed before the new day starts.

 

But today was strange. There was a humming in your body, a sudden energy, like maybe you’d had coffee that day, dipped lovingly in cream and sugar. But you hadn’t. You meant to, but you forgot, getting distracted by the way the birds were singing their songs. And you wondered.

 

So you locked yourself in a room, taking your guitar, and you wrote. Songs flowing from your fingertips even as your hands grew sore from playing. Hours and hours passed, creativity, imagination spreading from you like a beacon of light. A fire lit within you. I’m ready, it calls out to you. I’m ready.

 

And you followed it, that part within you.

 

And so when midnight came about, when the phone finally trilled, you blink from the music, startling to distraction, to staring at the phone.

 

You blink again, staring.

 

New message, it shines.

 

You reach down, pick it up, watching the screen for a moment. The light seems strange. Looking up, you blink again. It got dark when you weren’t looking, the stars shining just outside your window.

 

You feel like you’re coming out from underwater, like you lost all sense of direction and time, got so lost in yourself that you’re finally now realizing that time didn’t stop with you.

 

It surprises you. The darkness, the lack of light. You don’t usually forget to sleep. It’s strange enough that you’re still here, that you didn’t feel your body creaking, telling you it was time to sleep, to give yourself a rest. To send you off in preparation for another day.

 

But you’re not sad you didn’t sleep. That you missed out on the dreams and the quiet. You take a deep breath, exhaustion clinging to your eyelashes, a sentient being dragging you down to an almost hypnotic state.

 

But you shake your head, you’ve still got a text to respond to. A world to enter that you never thought you’d enter again. A world you were content with having been a part of once, having known acceptance once. Like you could live your life happy, knowing that there was somewhere out there where you felt that moment. Where you felt that joy and ability to just exist and be okay.

 

But you could have it again.

 

And that’s the strangest feeling ever.

 

You could almost understand once. But again?

 

~

 

You end up hanging out with them. Frank and Ray and the Way Brothers.

 

They’re nice, accepting in the way Gerard was when you first met.

 

You feel kind of honored to be here, like you’ve been brought into something special, something important.

 

And you’re not sure if that’s a consequence of your self-esteem or if this is something that’s really important. If this is something that’s going to change your life. Something that’s going to change you.

 

Maybe this is something that is going to fix you a little bit.

 

Because you’re beginning to want to be okay with yourself. And that feels like a first step to something. That feels like potential. It feels like you can get somewhere with that.

 

So, yeah, hanging out with these people seems kind of immense. And even though all you’re talking about is videogames and comic book characters, there’s a feeling of contentment inside.

 

But, really, maybe you’re overthinking this.

 

~

 

The months go by. Days passing and moving forward. It’s been awhile, but it seems like maybe you’ve been adopted. Like you’ve been taken completely into that group. That specific set of people. Become a part of normal reality with them. You’re expected now, an intrinsic part of their realm.

 

And so when you knock on the door, you’re confident. You know they’ll let you in and you know it’ll be fun. You know it’ll be like coming home.

 

It’s starting to feel normal to be yourself now.

 

Alicia answers the door, smiling as she sees you. She’s sweet, holding Bunny in her arms. It’s nice not to be expected of anything, to just be friends. It’s nice not to have your parents asking if you’re dating that nice girl. Do you like her? You never know what to say.

 

But Alicia knows. Alicia knows and she doesn’t care. She knows _you_ and that’s enough for her.

 

You used to feel awkward with her, like something might go wrong. But that’s how it’s always been with girls. You’ve never enjoyed breaking their hearts, telling them no and knowing they never had a chance. You’ve never been someone who could tell someone you love them when you don’t, even if you were only doing it to protect yourself.

 

But you talked, you learned each other and became friends. And it’s nice, it’s nice to know that you’re a part of this. That you’re becoming a part of other people who are a part of this. It’s an ever-growing circle of friends, of new people, where discrimination isn’t accepted.

 

It’s like jumping ship. Moving from waters where people weren’t so open, where they weren’t so okay with things. Where you didn’t fit. And moving from that into waters where it’s okay. Where you don’t feel like a monster in disguise, waiting until people find out you don’t really belong.

 

You smile as Frank runs up behind you, jumping onto your back, wrapping his hands across your shoulders. He whoops, grinning. You’re strong. Years of carrying your brothers and amps—because you never felt right letting techs do that—building up until you’re more than you look. More substantial, more real. You have muscles beneath your skin, covered by the silken sheen.

 

Frank likes to take advantage of that.

 

~

 

The phone rings in the silence of the house, a blaring of sound distracting you from your concentration. Though what you were concentrating on you don’t really know. Sometimes, you just need to sit, take in existence and live. Because if you force yourself to do, if you force yourself to think all time, you burn out. You run out of energy and feelings. So you do nothing sometimes. Bring yourself back to the land of living.

 

So when the phone rings, you’re a little startled. Your thoughts are all jumbled as though you’re coming up from a sleep. And you’re not quite sure where the phone is.

 

You stumble around, searching with your hands while your eyes try to catch up with what’s going on.

 

You find it before your eyes open, the phone vibrating in your hand. You press it against your ear, say hey.

 

You wonder who it is for a moment before the responding greeting registers.

 

Joe.

 

There’s another voice on the line, another familiar greeting and you blink again, wondering. What are your brothers calling for?

 

You tilt down, allowing yourself to rest on the couch beneath you.

 

_We’re worried about you._

 

You don’t really know why. You haven’t talked in awhile. They’ve been busy and you soon got tired of dropped phone calls and plans that fell through. Maybe you should say you’ve been busy too, but you try not to lie to yourself.

 

_Why?_

 

_You haven’t called us in awhile._

 

You frown, not sure how you’re supposed to respond to that. You’re not entirely sure what they expect. And more than that, you’re not entirely sure if you want to act like you haven’t changed.

 

Which you are you supposed to be?

 

Nick chimes in and you wonder whose idea this was. Maybe your parents? You could see them asking if they’d talked to you lately. If they knew what was up with you. Had they seen the pictures? After all, you haven’t been shy with your new friendships.

 

_We just want to make sure you’re okay._

 

You pause for a second, sighing. _I’m fine._

 

There’s a suspicious pause, as though they don’t entirely believe you. Like you usually hide things from them. Usually tuck things carefully into places where they can never find them. Being gay is the exception that proves the rule.

 

_We’ve just seen that you’ve been hanging out with My Chemical Romance._

 

You nod on your side of the phone, despite knowing they can’t see you. _They’re cool._ You mumble into the pillow, curling up around yourself.

 

You should probably try to stay alert. You’re never quite sure what you might say when your guard is low.

 

And you haven’t had that practice of not telling for awhile. You haven’t had to pretend to be someone you’re not for months.

 

Maybe you’ve forgotten how to be anything but honest.

 

You wonder what kind of media storm that would cause, if it would cause any. Your star has faded from the limelight. People might not care about the Jonas Brother that’s not doing anything anymore. But they might if they knew you were gay.

 

You can hear the questioning silence from the other end of the line, as though you can see their puzzled faces, their lost looks.

 

Maybe you should elaborate. _We’re hanging out as much as we can before they go off on tour._

 

_Umm…?_

 

They don’t really get it, not that you expected them to. You guess it’s a little different for you, but it’s not really much of a jump. You’ve always loved people. They know that. It’s just that sometimes it’s hard to see past the way you view your family to see the person they really are. It’s the most insidious type of bias, the bias that keeps grown people children in the eyes of their family. You’ll never grow up enough to be someone other than who you were years ago.

 

You’re okay with that mostly, but you know you’re strange. You’re not exactly the epitome of normal. Not that your family really is either. But for some reason you’re a bit of the oddball of the family. The grey sheep in a flock of pure white.

 

A little bleach and you’re good as new, but you’ll never fit in perfectly. There will always be parts of you that know you’re grey. Know you’re not the perfect white sheep.

 

And they’ll always know it too. So you’re not sure you want to say what you want to say.

 

It’ll probably just end badly.

 

So all you say is _Yeah._

 

There’s a silence. No one really knows what to say and you’re too tired to think up something that won’t potentially be offensive. You think it’s probably a bit sad that you don’t really know how to talk to your brothers anymore. That you’ve grown so far apart in such a short time. But you were never as close to them as they were to each other.

 

It never seemed like a sad thing until now, but maybe you were just too concerned with hiding that you forgot to see what was going on around you.

 

Still, you smile a little, it’s nice to hear from them _Did mom send you?_

 

They backtrack a little, grins in their voices, desperate to find the ease with which they used to talk to you. You wonder at that, they were the ones who gave you up, not the other way around, _No, no, of course not. We’re grown men, we don’t have to do everything our parents say._

 

Nick grins, cutting off Joe, _Or, in other words, yes, yes she did._

 

You laugh, smiling at their banter, glad to know that some things never change. You may not be a part of the conversation anymore but at least they’ll always have each other, _Tell her I’m fine. I’m not acting out. They’re just really great people. Although they’re making me want to write rock music._

 

_Oh, god, the bad influence has already started?_

 

_Dude, it’s been months, the bad influence is already over. It’s ingrained in my consciousness so now I can be a bad influence on other people. It’s the way of the world. I thought you knew this._

 

They laugh and you smile.

 

And even though you know they’re only calling because of your parents, even though you know that this phone call, the first time you’ve heard from them in months, only existed in the first place because they were afraid that you were becoming corrupt, it’s good to hear from them.

 

And that’s part of the reason it’s so hard to think about maybe losing them.

 

Because they’re family, no matter how messed up it sometimes seems.

 

And the truth is, you’ll probably wait to tell them until you find someone, until you have a reason to tell them, something real and concrete.

 

Something that will say, hey, I’m not lying.

 

~

 

_So, do you actually follow that?_ Mikey nods to your ring curiously.

 

_Yeah, mostly._ You look up at him, tilting your head against the floor.

 

_Mostly?_

 

_When I was younger, I was glad to have it because it meant I had an excuse to not be into that sort of stuff._ You shrug. _People stopped being gross to me once I told them what it was for._

 

_And now?_

 

_I’m not sure. It still feels really important to me. But I don’t really know where I’m coming from anymore. I don’t know why it’s important. I don’t really want to take it off though._

 

Mikey nods, watching you carefully. _Makes sense._

 

It feels good. To have someone expect nothing from you. You can say whatever you want, whatever you need, as long as it’s not a lie. It doesn’t matter if you’re not sure what the answer is or what you’re saying, as long as you feel it. The only meter of measurement, of worth here, is love.

 

You smile, crawl along the ground, feet dragging across the carpet, until you can poke your head up over the end of the couch Mikey’s on. You stare at him for a second, looking at him in a way that should be creepy. Widening your eyes, you watch him, big blue eyes beseeching.

 

Mikey’s mouth quirks and he nods almost imperceptibly.

 

You grin, crawling onto the couch with him, pushing him over, making your own space. Mikey’s comfortable. All sharp edges and bones fitting together so perfectly. Somehow he’s the cuddliest person in the world, just made for curling up around and falling asleep on. You think maybe this is what he was meant for.

 

So you make yourself comfortable, wrapping yourself around him until there are no gaps between the two of you. Until someone could come in and get the entirely wrong idea.

 

But when you realized he was a human pillow, you couldn’t help yourself. Couldn’t keep yourself from curling around him and letting the you that is clingy and touches maybe a little too much out into the world.

 

Humming happily in the back of your throat, you smile contentedly.

 

A hand touches your shoulder and you startle slightly, opening your eyes cautiously, smiling as you see Alicia standing over you.

 

Mikey moves beneath you, a subtle change in positioning that makes you pout. Movement is the death of cuddling. Movement means it’s over, that you can no longer have your human pillow.

 

But instead of leaving, instead of moving away with Alicia, he grabs her, pulling her down to join you.

 

Yay! You think, as Alicia curls up next to you two. She’s a cuddly, cuddle-bear. You like the way you three fit.

 

You close your eyes again, smiling at the feeling of two arms wrapping around you. At the feel of two bodies next to yours. It’s nice to have this.

 

~

 

You think maybe you’re happier now. That your new friends have finally soaked beneath your skin.

 

You’d always questioned safe places, always questioned their use, but now that you have one, you feel special. You feel _safe_. And it’s a cliché. It’s something that is expected to come with safe places. But you never realized how perfect it would be, how wonderful. You never realized how much you needed it before. Someplace you could be yourself.

 

You’re starting to think that maybe, just maybe, your smiles are getting more real. That you’re remembering what it is to laugh and mean it.

 

It feels like a good thing.

 

~

 

You see him in passing, a consequence of existing in the same place at the same time.

 

He’s nothing to you right now, just a combination of features. Two eyes, a nose. A mouth and lips. He’s just a person, a random guy you’ve never met before. Someone you bump into, smile and apologize.

 

He’s cute, you think. He has a nice smile, short black hair. Glasses too. And you never thought you had a thing for glasses before but you think you might change your mind.

 

You think maybe you should ask for his phone number. He’s cute and you’re not scared anymore, so you think maybe it’s time.

 

_Hi, I’m Kevin_

 

_Mike._

 

~

 

You walk through your house in a daze. It’s a good day. The sun shines in through your windows, spreading across the room like a disease you don’t want to get rid of.

 

It’s beautiful outside, and you feel like spinning, like running outside and circling around and around until you can’t stand anymore. Until you fall to the ground and see the sky move above you.

 

And you think you might. You think you might right now. You think you might become impulsive for a day, forget that inside even exists and revel in the outdoors. In the existence beyond the four walls we’ve put ourselves into.

 

You think that might be a perfect way to spend your day.

 

So that’s what you do.

 

It feels good to be impulsive.

 

~

 

You’re not exactly sure how to call someone, how to pick up the phone and dial. What if he only gave you his phone number to be polite? To get you off his back, to stop talking to him.

 

You’ve never called someone like this, for this reason. You’ve never wanted to. You were so careful with the masks you put yourself behind that you didn’t allow yourself to want something like this.

 

But now that you have, now that you’ve figured out that it’s _okay_ , you want to try. You want to have that chance.

 

So despite the fact that your hands are shaking, that your heart’s in your throat, you pick up the phone and you dial.

 

~

 

You watch them from your perch on the stairs. They’re putting together the last few things they need to start, the last few things they need in order to leave, to begin their own journey. Soon, they’ll be on the bus, its constant movement lulling them to sleep until the next day comes, until all they know is the stop and go telling them when and where they are.

 

You helped them yesterday, helping them pack, put together the items in the way you used to, when you used to do the same sort of thing.

 

It’s almost time. Almost time for them to leave you, moving on until the only things left are calls.

 

You hope your friendship will last that.

 

Ray comes to sit beside you, Christa sitting down next to him, resting her head against his shoulder. _Why so glum, chum?_ He smiles at himself, laughing inside at his olden day speech patterns.

 

Smiling, you wrinkle your nose at him, _I’m just gonna miss you guys._

 

He smiles, wrapping his arm around your shoulders, _You’ll have to come visit us sometime._ He says, tightening his arm briefly.

 

_I’ll do my best._

 

_Besides,_ Christa smiles over to you, _We’ll be here too. We can have girl nights. I’m sure you’ll fit right in._ Amusement curls in her eyes, laughing over at you.

 

Sticking your tongue out at her, you pout, _Just because I’m gay, doesn’t mean I’m a girl._ You have man parts and everything!

 

She just grins, _We could talk about boys, you know._ Christa waggles her eyebrows at you, _Like your new crush._ Darn, she knows your kryptonite. You want to talk about your crush!

 

You blush, hiding your face in Ray’s shirt, murmuring quietly, _I guess I could do that._ You like to talk about boys. Or you think you would. You’ve never really had the opportunity before.

 

Ray laughs delightedly at you two, grinning as you raise your head to glare at him, _You’re supposed to be nice to me._ He’s your friend, he’s supposed to protect your masculinity. Not that you have much claim on it, but sometimes you like to pretend.

 

_I’m your friend, dude, I have teasing rights. Don’t deny me friend privileges._

 

You stick your tongue out. Friend privileges suck. Though it is a two way street, so it can’t be too bad, you _guess_. You know, if you _have_ to be honest. It’s too bad you’re so virtuous. If you weren’t, you could at least lie in your head. But, alas.

 

You sigh, watching the rest of the group come closer, preparing for goodbye. _It’s going to be weird not having you guys here._ It feels too soon, but it was always going to be too soon.

 

Standing, Ray wraps you up in a hug, _Yeah. You’ll have to come visit us, okay?_

 

You nod, breathing in the hug. These people are leaving. It feels like they’ve brought you into something new, something special. But they have to leave, they have to tour, it’s this thing they do, and you understand that. You just don’t want to lose them because of it.

 

It’ll be fine, you tell yourself. It has to be.

 

~

 

You meet Mike at a coffee shop, a cute place, all soft tones, browns and pinks.

 

A good place for a first date, if that’s what this is. You’re not really sure, considering you’ve never been on one.

 

It kind of makes it hard to figure that out. Is this a date? Is it normal for people to randomly ask for people’s phone numbers? You don’t know.

 

You do know you want it to be a date though. You know you want this dude to flirt with you and you want to have that potential there.

 

But, you know, you’re not exactly the best at reading people.

 

You smile over your coffee, wrapping your hands around the warmth. Sometimes you think you’d buy coffee just for the warmth if you didn’t like the taste of it.

 

Also, the smell, the smell of coffee is fantastic. It’s a good thing there are so many ways to add sugar to it because you’re not a huge fan of black coffee.

 

So when you see him accept his coffee, you make a face at him, _Black?_

 

He grins, _It’s the only way to have it._

 

You make a mock outraged face, _What? Madness! Sugary coffee is just as awesome, buddy. You better apologize to my chocolate cinnamon latte. It’s hurt, man, by your callous, callous words._

 

He raises an eyebrow, _Your coffee is weak of heart, kid. It should get used to shit being said._

 

You shake your head disappointedly, patting your coffee cup carefully, _Oh, you poor chocolate cinnamon latte, just because this mean, mean person doesn’t think you’re awesome doesn’t mean you’re not a delicious treat of awesome. Don’t listen to the haters. They don’t know nothing ‘bout ya’ll._ Waving your hand dramatically, you make a gangsta face. Yeah, you’re so hardcore.

 

He laughs at you, _If you coddle it, it’ll never grow up,_ Mike grins unashamedly, _I’m doing it a favor, you should thank me._

 

_I never thank mean people. That would be like thanking the thief that steals my cow, it’s counterproductive. If I ever get another cow, they’ll just steal that one too. And I’m far too attached to my cows to accept people taking them away._ You shake your head sadly with a sigh.

 

Your poor imaginary cows. They must feel so unloved.

 

_Yes, because I’m sure you have cows hanging around everywhere in the middle of LA._

 

You grin, waggling your fingers at him, _I have my ways, dude. Don’t underestimate me. I’m ninja._

 

~

 

Smiling, you sink into the coach, curling your legs up beneath you. Girl Talk time. Apparently, it’s still called that even though you’re a guy. You think maybe it should be called awesome people talk time, but they just shook their heads, grinning at you. You think that maybe they’re finding a little too much joy in you being there and wanting to talk about boys.

 

You’d be outraged, but, you know, you’re actually here to talk about boys. About your first date which is way too exciting to hold in even if you’re not entirely sure it was a date. You’ve got questions, man, and, hopefully, these lovely ladies will be able to help you (flattery never hurts even if it’s inside your head). So you’ve decided to be beneficent and let it slide. Yes, you’re just that awesome.

 

_So, what was this Mike guy like?_ Lyn-Z grins at you, _We want to know everything. We’re married now, we gotta live through someone vicariously. And you’re our only friend who’s still dating._

 

_Isn’t it sad how that happened? Last I knew, we had at least three or four girlfriends who weren’t married, but now it’s all over. Everyone’s happily married and there are no more stories._ Alicia pouts slightly. _Though I_ guess _I can be happy for their happily married status, but still._

 

_We do need our vicarious smoochies,_ Christa nods sadly, turning to you, _But now we have you, so it’s all good._

 

Eyes wide and intense, they turn to stare at you, zeroing in on you like there’s a bulls-eye on your forehead, a hungry pack of lions, watching their prey. Maybe this wasn’t the best idea. But it’s too late now. _Yeah,_ You say with a gulp, _That’s me._

 

_So tell us about this guy, what’d you do? Where’d you go? Did you kiss?_

 

Might as well, right? You play with you shirt, feeling awkward. You don’t really know how this works. _We went to a coffee shop and talked for hours. It was really fun._ You smile sweetly, curling your legs beneath you.

 

Anyway, _But I’m not sure if it was a date or not. I haven’t ever been on one, so…_ You shrug, blushing.

 

_Well, did he pay for the stuff you did?_ You nod, eyes wide.

 

_Did you ever talk about each other in a way that used the word friend?_

 

You shake your head, thinking.

 

_Did you kiss?_

 

You shake your head again, pouting.

 

_Then, yep, that was a date._

 

_Even though we didn’t kiss?_ You tilt your head, frowning a little.

 

_Yeah, not everyone kisses on the first date. Some people are subtle. It’s supposed to be attractive._

 

_Good,_ You say with a grin, _Good._

 

Jamia smiles, _I’m glad,_ She rests her head on your shoulder. _You deserve to be happy._

 

~

 

_Hey, Kevin, it’s mom. How are you doing? We haven’t heard from you in awhile so we figured we’d call. It seems like you’re not home right now, so call us back later? We love you lots! Bye._

 

~

 

Running forward to lean over the fence, you grin at what you see, _Hippos!_ You love hippos, they’re big, cute, like giant teddy bears, plodding around in the water like they don’t have anything else to do. They’re the original La-Z-Boy, the person on the couch, chillin’, not a care in the world.

 

Mike comes up behind you, leaning his back against the rails. Raising an eyebrow, his lips quirk amusedly. _Hippos?_

 

You shrug, sheepish, smiling at the ground, _A fan gave me this hot pink hippo, once._ _So I’m kinda bias towards hippos now. It was pretty awesome._ It’s adorable. Big, dark eyes, and a cute smile. You know hippos don’t smile, but, still, it’s awesome, and stuffed animals aren’t meant to be anatomically correct anyway. You like happy hippos. Especially when they’re pink.

 

_Pink hippos?_ That’s _your thing?_

 

You grin at him, nodding seriously, _Pink hippos, man, that’s where it’s at._ Bouncing against the rail, you laugh, eyes following the hippos subtly, trying to hide your infatuation with them.

 

_Oh, god, I’m on a date with someone and my main competition is a_ hippo. _I don’t think this bodes well for the future._

 

_Hey!_ You pout, inwardly grinning at him calling this a date, _I’m not_ that _into hippos. They’re just, cute, is all._

_  
_

__

_Uh-huh, sure,_ Mike raises his eyebrow, watching you skeptically, _So says the guy who can’t take his eyes off of them._

__

 

You jerk your eyes away from the hippos again, pouting, _That’s not fair, you can’t blame me! Hippos are just all roll-y and big! They’re too much to resist. You have to admit that._

__

 

He just grins at you, _I admit nothing._

__

 

Pouting, you stare at him sadly, eyes wide and sorrowful, _But hippos are so awesome! They’re like big balls of sunshine and joy! You can’t not like hippos. It’s heresy!_

__

 

He laughs, rolling his eyes. _Fine, fine, they’re awesome._

__

 

_Ah-ha!_ You grin, dancing a happy dance for the hippos, _You admitted it!_

 

Hippos are so underrated, they need all the compliments and love they can get.

 

You’re totally their champion, bringing love to hippos all around, one at a time. It’ll be epic.

 

And, at least now, you know what you’re going to do next year.

 

Hippo Tour!

 

It needs to happen.

 

~

 

_Hey, it’s your parents again. You haven’t called us back yet, so we’re not sure you got our message. We’d love to hear from you. Call us when you can._

 

~

 

You grin as you watch My Chemical Romance from the side of the stage, bouncing on the balls of your feet, unable to stop moving. They’re powerful, the way they feel the music, it’s inside them. And it’s beautiful. It’s kind of amazing to be here, to watch their energy. These people you’re friends with, these people you know and love, they’ve become something more, more intense. They’re a part of each other, a tidal wave of sound. They’ve become caricatures of themselves in the best way possible. A way to reach out and hold onto the people in the audience, bringing them into the world they’re creating.

 

It’s interesting, because you’ve known that from an inside perspective, you’ve known that from a familial perspective, but you’ve never known it from this sort of perspective. This isn’t someone you’ve known forever or someone you’ve met on tour. This is someone you knew as friends before you ever saw them live.

 

And maybe you should have gone to a concert when you were younger, when you were still hiding, when you could have heard these words and felt them in your heart when you doubted yourself. You wonder if it would have been healing, if it would have reached inside you, pulling out the madness and pain and lancing the infection. Because music has a way of reaching us when nothing else can. But maybe you weren’t ready for it back then, back all those years to when you were a kid.

 

But, now, now, you can feel it.

 

It’s kind of amazing.

 

~

 

You watch them walk off-stage, laughing and smiling. There’s an energy inside of them, the adrenaline from the show refusing to release them from its grip, taking hold and digging in its heels.

 

Gerard grins as he comes out with his arm wrapped around Mikey’s shoulder, Frank tumbling in behind them with Ray following. They’re happy, vibrating in their shoes, the music refusing to leave them.

 

It was a good show.

 

A few moments pass, guitars changing hands, before they see you, Ray waving first, his eyes falling on you as he looked around. Walking over, he wraps you in a hug, _Hey,_ he grins, _Glad you came._

 

You smile happily in his arms, giddy, laughing as the rest of the band piles on top of you two, Frank grabbing onto your hair and holding on, _Kevin!_

 

Gerard’s red head peeks between you two, his arms curling around you, _Kevin._

__

There’s a yelp, the tangle of limbs becoming too much for your legs to handle as you all crash to the ground, Frank, the cause of it all, giggles as he rolls away, escaping the massacre.

 

Mikey stands in the background, the only one smart enough to avoid the fall. You grin.

 

Man, you missed these people.

 

~

 

 

The phone rings as you come home, exhausted. Flights always tire you, make you want to go to your bed and bury beneath its covers, allowing yourself to get lost in a world of your own making.

 

But as the door closes behind you and you drop your bags on the floor, the phone rings, a harsh echo in the silence of your home.

 

Shit, you think, an involuntary curse word forced out by exhaustion.

 

You should ignore it, just go to bed and sleep, you probably won’t be good company anyways.

 

So you continue onwards, decision made. You’ll sleep, call whoever’s calling back tomorrow, when you’re less likely to fall asleep on them. Less likely to say something you’ll regret.

 

You close your eyes, letting tired lids finally have a rest. Mmm, you think, you’re almost there. Almost to your room, almost to bliss.

 

There’s a thud as your phone drops from nerveless fingers, hitting the carpeted floor quietly.

 

You droop, stopping, refusing to open your eyes. The strings have been cut, your one path, your one way to go is gone. And you’re not sure what you need to do.

 

Pick up the phone?

 

Maybe you should just collapse here, sleep on the carpet until you wake up in the morning, prepared for another day.

 

It’s comfortable enough, right?

 

You allow yourself to fall, curling up on the ground, curiously looking at the screen of your phone.

 

Because despite refusing to answer, you still want to know who it is.

 

And, then, _Oh._ It’s your parents.

 

You should answer, you should really, really answer. They’ve been trying to get a hold of you for weeks and you should answer, you really should. Sleep can wait right?

 

Right.

 

You answer the phone.

 

This is such a bad idea.

 

_Hey, mom._

 

~

 

_They’re awesome people, mom. They’re not making me someone I’m not. If they were, I wouldn’t be friends with them._ You try to keep your voice controlled, calm.

 

It’s not working so well.

 

_But they_ have _changed you._ You don’t usually fight with me is the unspoken reproach.

 

_Mom, of course they’ve changed me. We’re friends, friends influence each other. It’s not a bad thing._

__

 

_You haven’t talked to us in weeks. The only thing that’s changed are these new friends of yours._

__

 

_That’s not the only thing, mom._

__

 

_Then what has changed?_

__

 

You sigh, not willing to open that can of worms right now, _Mom._

 

_What has made it so you don’t respond to a phone call? Really, I want to know._

__

 

_Mom,_ you say again. You don’t know what to say or how to defend yourself. I’ve been busy? That’ll never fly. She’ll ask what you’ve been busy with. What will you say then? I’ve been learning to accept myself for being gay? You’re not ready for that, you know you aren’t. At least not right now. Not in a phone call.

 

Fuck, why did you answer the phone?

 

~

 

You hate fighting with your parents. You hate the implications behind every word, the hidden meanings to everything either of you say. You hate the fact that you can never just get out what’s wrong. What’s really eating at you.

 

I mean what’s so bad with saying I’m worried about you.

 

Because you know your mom didn’t call to be angry, she didn’t call to fight, she was just worried. She wanted to know you were okay. That these new friends of yours weren’t getting you into drugs or sex. That you weren’t going to come home an entirely new person.

 

And you may know that’s never going to happen. That they’ll never turn you into someone you’re not. But your mom doesn’t.

 

And sometimes outside appearances are the only ones people see.

 

~

 

You know they’ve forgiven you, just as you’ve forgiven them. An argument like this is small, it’s miniscule.

 

And it sucks, but it happens.

 

All it’s really made you realize is that you need to say something, and you need to say it now.

 

No more excuses, no more waiting.

 

You’re ready.

 

~

 

The phone feels heavy in your hand, the weight of things to say, the things you need to do.

 

Maybe this is terrible timing.

 

Or maybe it’s the best timing you could ask for.

 

_Hey, mom._

__

 

_Kevin?_

__

 

_Yeah, it’s me._ You pause for a second, taking a deep breath, _Um, there’s something I need to tell you._

__

 

_Kevin? Kevin, are you okay?_

__

 

_Yeah, I’m fine. It’s just, there’s been something I need to tell you. I’ve been needing to tell you since I was seven years old. And I’m not sure how you’re going to react to it._

__

 

Your mom nods, cautious, trusting you, _Okay._

__

 

_But I feel like I should tell you in person._

__

 

_Okay._

__

 

It’s happening.

 

Oh god, it’s happening.

 

~

 

You giggle helplessly, bending over as laughter wracks your body.

 

Mike grins before you, relentless, hiding his own laughter far better than you are yours.

 

Bastard.

 

How dare he make you laugh so hard. Inconsiderate is what it is. Who wants to laugh, really. It’s a terrible, terrible thing.

 

Really, laughter causes wars. No lie.

 

Okay, so maybe a little lie.

 

But laughing hurts if you do it long enough!

 

You need to get revenge somehow. It’s the only way to even the score.

 

Forcing your laughter to slow, you pounce at him, pushing him to the ground, digging your fingers into his sides.

 

You grin, it’s nice to be able to forget, to step away from what’s tomorrow.

 

To spend a day in laughter rather than in fear. 

 

~

 

_Okay, I’m going in._

 

_You can do it._ Gerard’s voice comes through tinny, crackling across the phone, reassuring, _We believe in you._

__

 

You smile slightly, closing your eyes and letting out a rattling breath, _This is terrifying. What if they don’t want me anymore?_

__

 

_Then you’ll always have us. We love you, Kevin._

__

 

You nod, taking a deep breath, _Thanks. I just want them in my life. I don’t want to lose them. And this might be it._

__

 

_I know. It sucks._

__

 

You nod, laughing through the tears. _Any words of wisdom for me?_

__

 

_Be honest, and don’t forget you have us._

__

 

_Thanks._ You take a deep breath, pressing those words close, keeping them safe, _Thanks._

 

Taking a deep breath, you shake yourself, ignoring the fact that your hands can’t seem to stop trembling.

 

Let’s do this.

 

~

 

There’s a silence after you tell them, the words echoing in the room, a death toll.

 

You close your eyes, scared. Because as good as it feels to finally be honest, it sucks to know that you no longer have control over what’s going to happen.

 

It’s all up to them. They could make this or break this.

 

You really, really hope they make this.

 

_I don’t understand._ Your mom gulps, at a loss for words, your dad standing behind her, face expressionless.

 

You blink, not sure what to do, what to say.

 

You kind of want to run.

 

_Can you give us time? To think about this?_

__

You can’t help but be grateful that they haven’t already kicked you out of the house, told you to never speak to them again.

 

_Yeah._

__

~

 

The doorbell rings, a hollow clanging through your home, bright and brass. You don’t really want to answer it. You don’t want to leave your bed and force your muscles to move in ways they haven’t moved in hours.

 

You love your parents, but, man, it could all go wrong.

 

You can see the different paths in your head, all the different ways it could go, all the horrible ways it could go wrong. If they wanted, they could just _forget,_ could just stop calling, as though you were never their son at all.

 

Or, perhaps worse, they could “accept” you, keeping you in their family, charity. We can save the gay boy, they would say, looking at you as though you need to be fixed. As though there’s something wrong, something dirty about you.

 

You think that’d be worse, because you’re not sure you’re strong enough to say no.

 

Your family is hard to reject, no matter how cruel they may act.

 

So you hope they choose something else, anything else.

 

You take a deep breath, eyes closed, trying to ignore the doorbell.

 

It’s probably nothing.

 

But then it rings again, and again, a constant noise of _ding, ding, ding, ding._ This person’s not giving up.

 

Taking a deep breath, you go to answer the door.

 

Hopefully, you’ll be able to get rid of them quickly.

 

You kind of need to cry.

 

You open the door, ready to smile, ready to pretend to be okay.

 

Everything’s fine here, no worries. Sure, you were just crying, but you’re fine, really.

 

Your walls up and prepared, you look at the person standing outside.

 

It’s Mike.

 

Your glass castle breaks, cracks running through the fragile surface at the sight of him.

 

Shit.

 

Tears run down your face, a sob wracking your body, as he steps closer, wrapping his arms around you.

 

His voice is soft, quiet and uncharacteristic, as he murmurs sweetly to you, bringing you carefully back to your room, his arms a safe haven.

 

You didn’t think just telling them would hurt so much, you didn’t think just the fear of rejection would seep inside you and make you so broken.

 

You feel flimsy like a gust of wind could push you down, could drag you through the mud until you don’t remember what it’s like to be colorful.

 

What it’s like to live.

 

You breathe, pressing your face against him, burrowing into his arms, into safety. It’s hard, to live with this. To not know.

 

You didn’t expect this to be easy, but you never thought it would be this hard either.

 

~

 

You’re baking when the knock comes on the door, distracting you from the cookie dough in front of you. Putting the wooden spoon carefully to the side, you wipe your hands on your apron before taking it off and placing it on the counter, refusing to make a mess in order to answer the door.

 

_Hello?_ You smile, opening the door, head tilted slightly.

 

Your parents stand outside, smiling nervously, _Hi._

 

_Mom? Dad?_ You blink, _Um, come in?_

__

 

They nod, awkward, as they enter your home, standing just inside the entranceway, wary of their welcome.

 

They stare at you, silence permeating the room. You’d like to make it easier for them, but they’re not the only ones at a loss for words.

 

Your mom looks down, dark eyes turning to the ground for answers as she takes a deep breath, _We’re sorry._ Your dad nods from the sidelines, regret in his eyes, and you stare at them, confused, heart beating fast.

 

You hope this is what you think it is.

 

_What for?_

 

_We’re sorry we had to think about it. We’re sorry we asked you to leave. We love you and we’ll always love you, no matter who you love._

__

 

_Mom,_ You blink away the tears, closing your eyes, relief building in your chest. _Dad._

__

 

A tear slips out, and you close your eyes, trying to regain control, trying to push away the wetness in your eyes. You take a deep breath, letting it out suddenly in a gasp when your mom comes closer, hugging you tightly, your dad close behind.

 

_We love you, we love you, we love you._

 

Air shudders out of your lungs, little gasping breaths, as you hug them back, holding them tightly.

 

_Thank you._

 

~

 

_So do you have a boyfriend?_

__

 

You blink at the first words coming through the phone, _What?_

__

 

_No, really, Kevin, you have to tell us, we’re your brothers. We’ve got first dibs._

__

 

_First Dibs?_ What strange world have you gone into? Do they really want to know if you have a boyfriend? What?

 

_Your boyfriend. Come on, tell us, tell us!_

__

 

_Um,_ You blink, eyes wide, _He’s really sweet?_

__

 

_Ah ha! So you do have a boyfriend!_

__

 

_I think?_

__

 

_You realize he’s going to have to meet the family right? I mean, now that we know, nothing’s going to keep us from being completely nosy._

__

 

_Oh, shoot, I knew I was forgetting something when I decided to tell you._

__

 

_Oh, shut up, you know you like how nosy we are._

__

 

_I liked how nosy you were when you were nosy to each other._ That _was funny._

__

 

_Well, now it’s your turn. We’ve got to make up for all the years of boy crushes we’ve missed. Man, Kevin, were you not thinking about us at all? All that time we’ve got to make up! You better prepare yourself, we’ve got all this shit saved up, just for you._

 

You laugh.

 

~

 

Grinning, you bounce around your house as though your feet are springs and you’re just figuring out how awesome they are, how lovely it is to live your life on a cloud.

 

It feels awesome to be accepted, completely. To have both sides of your life combine without an explosive boom that leaves nothing but destruction in its wake.

 

It’s nice.

 

You weren’t sure what you expected, but you knew it could go bad. You knew some people have had really bad experiences. You didn’t want that to happen to you.

 

But it didn’t.

 

You were accepted.

 

Bouncing to the window, you lean against its sill, closing your eyes against the sun.

 

If you didn’t have to do anything all day, you’d probably bathe in the sun too.

 

No wonder cats are so lazy all the time. You grin, laughing into the warmth.

 

You feel ridiculous, like you want to just spin and dance around your house, make strange faces at the mirrors, and skip in the most awkward way possible.

 

You want to find all the nooks and crevices in your home and find a way to climb up them, to fill them with flowers and joy. To fill your life with color.

 

You want to exist in this space in a way you haven’t existed before.

 

Smiling, you trail your fingers against the walls as you skip lazily across the room.

 

It’s a good day.

 

~

 

As awesome as things are, as awesome as it is that your world has changed for the better, you still haven’t kissed Mike, yet.

 

Maybe you should change that.

 

~

 

You stand on his doorstep, sheepishly, wondering if you should do this.

 

You haven’t knocked yet, there’s still time to turn back. To return to your home and pretend you were never here at all.

 

Because you might be coming on a little too strong to just randomly come over and demand kisses from someone you’ve never kissed before. Someone that you’ve only known for a few weeks.

 

You don’t really know how all of this works so maybe it’s not strange. Maybe this sort of thing happens all the time.

 

You just really hope you’re not being creepy.

 

Gathering your courage around you like a cloak, using it to give you safety, hiding you from the vulnerability of actually _asking_ for something, you raise your hand and knock.

 

It’s hard and concrete, pulling you from beneath the waters.

 

You really hope this is a good idea.

 

The door opens in a lurch, welcoming light exiting through the opening in bright swathes.

 

_Kevin?_ Mike watches you curiously. _What are you doing here?_

__

 

_I was just,_ you look at him, _um. Hi?_

 

_Yeah, I figured that was part of it, but you don’t usually show up on my doorstep, what’s up?_

__

 

You take a step closer, unable to find the words.

 

Maybe you better show him.

 

You reach up, pressing your hand against his cheek until you can kiss him, softly, chastely.

 

There’s a catcall in the background, and you jump back, eyes wild. _Wha-?_

__

 

_Shut up,_ Mike says, not taking his eyes off of you, directing his words behind him. _And fuck off, Bill._

__

 

There’s laughter behind him and you feel a blush heat your cheeks.

 

Mike just smiles, sharp, stepping outside and closing the door behind him. _Hey._ His voice is low, intimate, bringing you in and holding you close.

 

You hold your breath, watching him as he presses your back against the house, pushing closer, until all you can see is him, surrounding you.

 

His lips brush against yours, his hand resting at the side of your neck, thumb brushing against your throat. Heart tripping in your chest, you gasp, warmth spreading through you body.

 

Eyes slipping closed, you fall into him, letting yourself relax completely. He’s warm, a raging furnace to your coat covered body, protecting you from the chilled air.

 

His body curves around yours, conforming to the irregular shape easily, naturally, like that’s how it’s meant to be. His lips press against yours, harder than before, more insistent. He’s doing everything he can to bring you in farther, to take you closer, until there are no more lines separating you from him.

 

And maybe that’s how it usually is when you kiss people, but you can’t help but think this is special. That this is something more.

 

Your hands curl into his sides, holding onto him like a lifeline, like you could never let go. And if you did, you’re not sure if there would be anything to catch you when you fall, to hold you up from the abyss below you.

 

Tightening your hands, you gasp suddenly, eyes shooting open when the porch light comes on, whooping sounding from inside, _The food’s ready. Come join us already!_

__

 

You startle, coming back to yourself, looking up at Mike as he smiles, backing away and taking your hand in his, _Come on, let’s go eat._

 

Looking up at him, you smile, the light putting you both in harsh relief.

 

It’s cool that the beauty that existed in the darkness is still there is the light. That it’s not just an illusion of splashes of light. You’re not missing something in the darkness. Everything is as it is.

 

It’s not fake, it’s real. It’s not a dream.

 

_Okay._

**Author's Note:**

> The masterpost and mixes are [here](http://mistressteacup.livejournal.com/8050.html)! (:


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